Xeno

 

xeno
n. the smallest measurable unit of human connection, typically exchanged between passing strangers—a flirtatious glance, a sympathetic nod, a shared laugh about some odd coincidence—moments that are fleeting and random but still contain powerful emotional nutrients that can alleviate the symptoms of feeling alone.

 

Two of the five young adults were deeply intimidated.

The man sitting a desk apart was dynamic and – as writers, they couldn’t point out a fitting word for his personality. They didn’t feel much shame- they barely had time to acknowledge it.

They were busy coming up with any sort of filler questions because this was a baffling interview.

All the traditional questions had been swept off a cliff because he kept coming up with nonanswers.

To what was a success, he slinked away with saying he wasn’t in the least bit successful.

To any role model figure, he’d said he had none.

To what were his hobbies, he shrugged.

 

They thanked  the heavens their Editor wasn’t there. She’d definitely have had a panic attack that he was avoiding all their questions.

This was a textbook stressful situation but he was so chatty and vivacious they weirdly felt at ease.

Three girls and one guy sitting in an office of a multi millionaire and they all felt comfortable.

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Winds Of Change

Long drives in buses gave her time to think. She didn’t like that.

She put in two buds bearing rhythmic sounds and pretended to be blank.while all the while her head was misty, working away with a dull static noise that even loud music didn’t seem to filter out. The roads winding up a hill were matched to the crescendo of the song. She waveringly smiled.

She was conflicted with love, as young girls generally are at that age. The age of a blossoming. The completion of any metamorphosis. A new perspective on everything. A perpetual existential crisis.

The desire to question everything but not know the answers. Very questionable music taste.

The man in the seat next to hers observed quietly, indiscreetly.

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Vision

Let’s have a little heart to heart, because that’s all I know.

 

I’m not the best person to ask for directions nor ask for advice on you OOTD, granted, but I can see what you miss while you’re busy scrolling through the endlessness of Instagram, scratching your head over whether your party favours look picture perfect, Pintrest in real life. I’ll never ask you for a selfie, nor ask you to fix your hair if we’re out together. Even in public. I’m just here looking out for you.

I’ll see the sadness when you put on your brave smiles, I’ll be the one asking you what’s wrong because you can tell me. There will literally be no judgement in my eyes. Trust me.

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Nevermind

 

 

“I type a text but then I nevermind that-

I feel these feelings but you never mind that-“

 

 

Story of my life?

 

I’m the one that this tearful message came pinging to.

However, I’d rather be the one sending this tragic message to someone, in this case.

 

That’s what comes out of falling for me, I suppose.

Only, this time I feel like an unfair, sadistic fiend sending the guy a nevermind.

He is- was by now, probably- my best friend after all.

I can’t help not being in love with him.

I have no capacity for love.

Not any more, at least.

I feel like such a terrible friend but I also can’t bring myself to lie to him.

 

He’s a cute boy, no doubt. It’s one of the reasons I fell for his offer of friendship. He could make anything sound funny, his dimples showed up at the most appropriate moments and he happened to be a class A nerd (which I discovered by total accident) in secret, which worked well for him- he had all these cute girls hanging by a thread.  

 

I have a strong predilection to hate such boys.

 

I hated him too, but very impersonally- he stood for everything I hated in a boy.

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Breakfast

 

I wake up with the most overwhelming feeling of tiredness and a groan that wakes a roommate up from her stupor. It’s not gone 8 yet and I have to be in class at 9. Correction- by 9, or those idiotic nerbs (newbie nerds) will have taken the best seats in class. It’s a crying shame that those with no real interest in the subject get in quickly just to prove a point. What point, I’d ask if I cared slightly more, but I’m the Verb(veteran nerb) here. I keep things in action.

I stayed up part of the night studying for a “surprise” test that most people don’t know about, I think. Thank god for over enthusiastic seniors who cannot wait to share their advice. My morning might go a little slower, but then again, what’s black coffee (illegally made because electric kettles are supposedly dangerous and divisive) for?

As I awaken, my first thought is the bathroom. I don’t understand the concept but there’s a huge line outside the bathrooms the days of our communications class with 100% of the girls bathing  their hair like it was a newborn child- gently, taking all the time they could possibly need.

The second is my breakfast. My mother, who has never been to a hostel before in her life doesn’t understand why I’ve got to skip breakfast everyday to fit in all my plans. Too bad there’s rarely anything edible for breakfast in here.

Worse still, this has been a very unexpected rock in our relationship. My mom and I were always close enough, never that much but since I left here, she feels the need to baby me- over BREAKFAST! Of all the reasons we disagree, she had to pick breakfast. In order to appease her, I try to get breakfast but there’s this bloody inconsiderate rule in hostel where they never serve breakfast beyond half eight. HALF EIGHT? THIS IS ABSURD. These mess handlers don’t understand how many girls are stuck in line for the bathrooms or need to pat dry their newly washed hair before that. Well, no breakfast is a habit here and something my mum can never understand.

I really need to talk to mother constructively though, to stay on in the holidays so I can help out on a research project my seniors are undertaking. She has to let me, this is huge. That it’s in the holiday period is absolutely the best advantage for me- or else hostel rules would make it an unfair game because girls are required to be locked inside hostel gates by 9. The guys I want to beat in research experience have no problem of this sort at all! Gah. Hence, I’ve got to make up all my hours on this project- I’ve got to get permission from my mum but before that the nasty breakfast issue has to be dealt with. I refuse to be unbathed before my presentation either, so 2 minutes after I wake up, I’m standing in a line with bucket and flannels in my hand, a toothbrush in my mouth and no breath at all, that’s how fast I needed to run.

The amount of time I spend irritably knocking the girls out of their dreamland could have definitely gone in revising my presentation points, but as you can see, I’m in a whiny mood. I emerge at 8.45am after a short and exemplary bath that should’ve been received by applause for efficiency, but all I get was a shove aside from a bucket and  a slosh of water on my jeans. Just what I needed.

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